Easter Morning

**NOTE BEFORE READING: This is an extremely Christ-centered poem. If you have a great distaste for religious content in your poetry, do not read it. Thank you.**

To know God in His holiness

Could take on mortal’s toil,

And shroud Himself in lowliness

To trod on earthen soil,

To be tempted by the one

By whom He was most hated,

With the plan, as God the Son,

To save what He’d created,

To be hungry and tired and sad

As all at some point are,

So His understanding of man

Was not just from afar,

And know His final breath would be

Completing His great plan,

While hanging nailed upon a tree

As His blood fell on the sand…

I know all this, and ponder still,

Yet this tale I don’t dread.

There still is ink left on the quill,

And Jesus is not dead.

For this was just a passing phase,

His guard stone rolled away

And Jesus walked from His grave

As nature sang in praise

Nails, they were but stepping-stones,

And pain but a sensation

As He prepared heavenly homes

For all who’d choose salvation

There is no greater love

Than His which makes us free.

His love has now brought life

To sinners like you and me.

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